


Nothing to Say

by scribblemoose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:44:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2310065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott and Stiles help each other to find a way through the pain the nogitsune leaves behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday night, November 6th 2011

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter takes place shortly after Deaton poisons the nogitsune; second chapter a few days after the end of S3b; final chapter as they are released from the school at the end of ‘Weaponized’. Dates from the timeline at http://teenwolfwiki.com. Title from ‘Heart of Darkness’, Joseph Conrad.
> 
> With thanks to KNW and Mim for all their encouragement - it's so good to share a fandom with you guys again! And to KNW for first-reading and Kis for her amazing beta skills.

Stiles sat on the edge of the bed - Scott's bed - and stared at his right hand. It was still. Completely, unnaturally still. His hands were never still. The skin was clean, scrubbed pink, except there was blood still staining the cuticle around his right thumb - Scott's blood - and his left wrist was covered with scratches and cuts. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second - just for a second - didn't dare more, room might shift, real might shift, _he_ might shift - and then fixed his gaze on the pictures on the wall either side of Scott's open bedroom door. Trees, there were pictures of trees, and Stiles traced each branch, each twig with his finger in the air. Focus, focus, must focus, must stay Stiles. Attention. Stillness. It was as if someone had thrown him in a pool and told him the only way to stop the alligators getting him was for him to be a completely different person.

A shadow appeared in the hallway and Stiles' heart skipped before he recognised the voice that came with it. 

"Hey," said Melissa. "Can I get you anything, Kiddo?"

Stiles' heart broke a little; kindness was too much, too hard. "No, thanks."

"Scott won't be long. He's putting the trash out. I'll make up the bed in Isaac's room for you."

As if putting Isaac in hospital wasn't enough, now he got to take his bed. 

Stiles knew his face was wet, knew he was crying, but he didn't really feel it until Melissa sat next to him on the bed, her arm around his shoulder, and said in her calm, determined nurse-voice, "It's not _you_ , Stiles. Never forget that. It's not you, it's something that's happening to you."

Stiles nodded. It didn't help. She wasn't right. But nodding was easier than talking. Nodding might make her stop, and go away, because he really didn't think he could take her being nice to him for a second longer; he wanted to squirm and crumple and tear his own hair out. She didn't know. Didn't know what he'd done to Scott. How he'd betrayed him. They had just told her Deaton had cornered him at the vets and poisoned the nogitsune. She didn't _know_.

Then Scott appeared at the door, relaxed and familiar, just the same as usual. Just Scott.

As if Stiles hadn't stabbed him at all.

"Right." Melissa got to her feet. "I'll go and make up that bed."

"Isaac's bed," Stiles murmured. He shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it hurt.

"It's okay, Mom," said Scott. "Stiles can share with me."

Stiles gave him a grateful smile, and he guessed Melissa must have seen him, because she just said, "If that's okay with you both."

"'Course it's okay," Scott said. "Just like when we were kids. Yeah, Stiles?"

"Yeah," said Stiles. "It's fine."

"Well, I'll leave you boys to it," said Melissa. "Get some sleep." She glanced at Stiles. "Rest, anyway. Get some rest."

Scott gave his mom a warm hug on her way out of the room, and he closed the door behind her. Toed off his trainers and kicked them into the corner. 

"Thanks," said Stiles. "I'm kinda surprised you want me anywhere near you tonight, but I'm grateful."

"It wasn't you," said Scott. "This is you."

"For a while."

"A few days, at least, Deaton said."

"And then what? I could've killed you, Scott." Stiles' cheeks stung from crying, his voice was small. 

"It wasn't you."

Stiles shook his head.

"We're going to fix this." Scott was all confidence as usual. It was one of the things Stiles loved about him: Scott's world remained simple and straightforward, however unusual it might have become by any normal person's standards. He saved people. He did the right thing. He got the girl.

Scott threw himself on the bed at Stiles' side; the mattress bounced like a trampoline with the weight of him. He rested his arm casually across Stiles' legs - a gentle, friendly gesture that Stiles in no way deserved.

"Come on," said Scott, softly. "We'll find a way. We always do."

Stiles looked at him, throat choked with a million reasons why Scott was probably wrong, why this was the most lost of all the lost causes in the world. And then, with something that felt like the snap of a brittle thing inside of him, Stiles lied. "Yeah."

He patted Scott's forearm in affirmation; muscles shifted and tightened under his touch, all the strength of the wolf so close to the surface. 

"Let's go to bed," said Scott. 

Stiles felt that would normally deserve some kind of witty one-liner, but nothing came to mind, so he just winked at Scott and grinned suggestively. 

"There's a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cupboard," Scott said, rolling his eyes. 

"Oh really? D'you often have guests these days?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" said Scott, bouncing the bed again as he rolled over onto his front, reaching out to plug his phone into the charger, its lead trailing under the pillow like a mouse tail. 

"Scott, I already _do_ know practically everything about you. Except Kira. You haven't told me properly about Kira yet." So easy to fall back to old times, old talk, old rhythms. Away from the truth of things.

"She's nice. Her parents are scary, though."

"I'm getting a sense of deja-vu here."

"It's not like Allison." There was something in the way he spoke her name; a chime of yearning, of tenderness. "Kira's parents are ordinary. Just intimidating. Like they want me to prove myself."

"That sounds pretty normal. But her dad invited you to their house, right? That's got to be a good sign."

"Or an excuse to torture me. With chopsticks."

Stiles raised an eyebrow.

"Don't even ask."

"No, of course not, why would I ask? I mean, seriously, dude, chopsticks? What?"

"Just, next time I go out with a girl, assuming Kira probably won't ever talk to me again, it might be in college. No more embarrassing dinners."

"Lydia's mom was always really nice to me," said Stiles, wistfully. "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe if her dad had been around to torture me, things would have happened between us years ago."

It was easy. So easy. They'd done this a million times. This was who they were, who they _really_ were, underneath the wolf and the nogitsune and the crazy world of the supernatural. This was who they'd always been. Scott and Stiles. Best friends. BFFs.

"Right," said Stiles. "Bathroom. Tooth-brushing. And so on."

In the bathroom, Stiles stared into the mirror, so close his breath misted the glass, and looked for a sign. Any sign. Something weird about his eyes, maybe, or some kind of aura. There had to be something. Something the others would recognise, something that screamed _Danger! Not Stiles!_ But he looked his usual pale, tired self. All shadows and milky skin and hair stuck up at weird angles. He didn't look terrifying. Or foxy. Maybe there would be a sign before he changed again, a moment of awareness, enough that Stiles could warn them. 

He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth. Flossed. He felt like standing under a hot shower for an hour but he'd already showered once and he didn't suppose another would make him any more clean. Nothing would ever make him feel clean again. The nogitsune was filth and poison and corruption, and it had touched every cell, every pore, every inch of him. 

Stiles leaned on the sink, eyes shut tight, breathing, breathing, breathing. Not thinking. Not thinking. Eventually he returned to Scott's room to find Scott standing there in his boxers like nothing was wrong. 

"Bathroom's all yours," said Stiles, unable to stop looking at Scott's belly, like he was looking for a scar. But it was as immaculate as always: smooth, perfect skin over tight, perfect abs. No cut, no hole, no blood. "I'll just, um, text my Dad. Let him know I'm staying over. He'll be at the station all night anyway but he still worries."

"Sure," said Scott, letting Stiles' babbling roll over him as usual. "Won't be long."

Stiles perched on the bed again and for some reason waited until the bathroom door was shut before he pulled out his phone and tapped out a text to let his Dad know he was okay. Staying at Scott's. _I love you, Dad._

He knew he'd have to tell his Dad tomorrow, have to explain that he had been possessed by an evil trickster fox-spirit and was a danger to humanity, that it was all his fault, all of it, including the bomb, and telling him that was going to be nearly as hard as watching himself stick a sword in his best friend's guts and twist it.

Stiles coughed a dry, almost-gagging panic-cough and pressed send. 

His phone told him he had over fifty missed calls, most of them from Scott from a couple of days back, when he was missing. There were texts, too, but Stiles couldn't bear to read them. He just stared at the list of them on the screen until Scott returned from the bathroom, and then stood up, shoving his phone in his pocket and scratching his belly through his t-shirt. "Look, I'll take the chair," he said. "It's not like I sleep much these days and I don't wanna disturb you, you know, with the tossing and the turning…"

"You still need to rest. Come on. Lie down for a bit. We can just talk."

"I bet that's what you tell all the innocent virgins you lure into your bed."

Scott grinned his broad, radiant grin, and pulled back the covers. "C'mon."

They got into bed. Stiles had forgotten how comfortable Scott's bed was. It was firm, but not too firm, and the sheets were clean and crisp, the quilt warm and fluffy. If there was anywhere in the world he could sleep these days, it would be here.

"I'll stay up all night with you if you want," Scott said. "Werewolves can get by on very little sleep when they have to."

"Maybe, but you still get crabby. Seriously, Scott. Why are you doing this?"

Scott turned onto his side, so they were face to face, nearly nose to nose. Stiles wondered if Scott could smell his own blood on Stiles' skin.

"Why am I doing what?"

"I fucking tried to kill you," Stiles said. "And you're behaving as if nothing happened."

"It wasn't you."

"It kind of was! I mean, no, but yes. I let it in, Scott. I couldn't stop it. It's my fault."

"No. It isn't."

Scott had that stubborn look in his eyes, that stubborn, loyal, never-back-down look. It made Stiles' stomach hurt. "Scott, please."

"You're shaking."

"What?"

"You're shaking like a leaf. Are you okay? I could call Mom, maybe you're in shock."

"I'm not in shock. And don't you dare call your mom."

"Are you cold? Here, let me warm you up."

Scott tried to pull him in close. Stiles recoiled. The memory of the sword shuddered through him: the suck of it, the twist of it. Scott's howl of pain. 

"Stiles," Scott said, softly, and wrapped an arm around Stiles' trembling shoulders. This time Stiles allowed himself to be held. Warmed. Stilled. Scott's nose pressed into Stiles' neck, and Stiles thought of Allison, wondered if she'd felt that. Or Kira. Or Isaac, even; he'd often wondered about Isaac. He remembered a camping trip with Scott before the bite; talking about girls and boobs and comparing jerk-off techniques; Scott frantically searching the tent for his inhaler because he came so hard he couldn't breathe. 

Stiles broke. He clutched at Scott and sobbed, once; scrunched his eyes up tight and refused to think, refused to remember, blotted out every part of everything except this room, this bed, this moment. He focused on Scott's arm around him, Scott's body so warm and close and alive, and nothing else, _nothing_. Scott made things better. Scott grounded him. Made him feel like himself. Like Stiles again. Stiles.

When the panic receded and Stiles reached back out into the world, Scott was sniffing his hair. No, not sniffing. Nuzzling. And actually, yeah, kind of sniffing. Like a dog. Of course, like a dog.

"What's funny?' said Scott, gently.

He must have laughed out loud. "Nothing. Hysteria, maybe. Sorry, Man."

"Nothing to be sorry for," said Scott, whose nose had now moved to Stiles' neck and was definitely sniffing.

"Do I smell of something gross?"

"What? Oh, sorry. No. You smell good, actually."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You smell kinda… Stiles." Scott was leaning right in there now, his lips pressing against the very sensitive part where Stiles' neck met his shoulder. Very sensitive indeed.

"Um," said Stiles, filled with a confusing mix of guilt, exhaustion and highly inappropriate horniness. 

Scott startled, as if he'd suddenly woken up from a dream. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"I think you were thinking. About my neck. Mostly. You're not a vampire werewolf, are you? Because that would just be too many superpowers in one little fuzzy body."

"Fuzzy?"

"Whatever. My point is…. Actually I've forgotten what my point was."

"You thought I was coming on to you."

"No! No, not that, just…. Were you?"

Scott gave a little shrug, and a smile that was definitely sheepish around the edges. 

"I was thinking, before," Stiles said, his heart racing. "About that time we went camping up at the creek."

He half-expected Scott to laugh, but he didn't. He wriggled a little closer, and Stiles was suddenly, vividly aware of Scott's body heat. Of the way their thighs pressed together; Scott's bare leg against his denim-clad one. He could smell Scott's shampoo, his toothpaste, his skin. And that was without wolfy powers.

"That camping trip was fun," Scott said.

"Yeah. It was. We should do it again sometime. Easier now I've got the jeep, we could just chuck the tent in and-"

Scott kissed him. A thousand words exploded in Stiles' head but he said none of them. He just kissed back.

And kissed, and kissed, and the more they kissed, the less Stiles thought, and that was good. So damn good. Scott felt warm and safe, like nothing could touch them. He was an amazingly good kisser, just enough tongue and a firm, damp nibble of Stiles' lower lip here and there. All that practise with Allison had obviously paid off. 

Stiles hesitated, drew back far enough that he could focus on Scott's face. 

"What?" Scott murmured. He was smiling like a doofus, his eyes blissed-out and just a little hungry.

"You like girls," Stiles said. His voice surprised him: it came out thick and a bit squeaky and not very much in control.

Scott considered it, maybe for a second - Stiles could see concentration glancing across his face - and then shrugged, and moved right back in for more kissing.

That was about all the force Stiles had to argue with. His body had really had it with all this mental stuff and was clamouring for attention. The kissing made him breathe right, made him not-think; it put a warm, good feeling in his belly that he needed so very, very much.

Stiles threaded his fingers through Scott's hair, brushed his thumb along Scott's jaw. Scott shifted closer still, and Stiles slipped his thigh easily between Scott's, shocked by the sudden press of Scott's hard cock into his belly. 

"Are you okay with this?" Scott licked at Stiles' earlobe.

Stiles made an incoherent flaily kind of noise and squirmed.

"Was that a yes?" asked Scott.

"Very yes," said Stiles. "I have very sensitive ears," he added. "Apparently."

"Me too," said Scott."

"Even your cute little pointy wolf ears?"

"Especially."

"Oh my God. You serious?"

"Oh yeah."

Stiles ran his finger around the curve of Scott's ear; Scott shivered, leaned into it, eyes sliding shut. 

"Scott?"

"Mmm?"

"You realise I'm never, ever gonna ask you how you found out you have sensitive wolf ears, right?"

"Probably for the best."

"Damn straight. And imagine, everyone thinks you're such a _nice_ boy, Scott McCall."

"I am a nice boy." Scott caught Stiles' earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently. "Isn't that nice?"

"'S ver', very nice," Stiles confessed, a little lightheaded.

"You should take your clothes off. Aren't you hot?"

"Dunno, you tell me," said Stiles, with a wink.

Scott didn't respond right away, and Stiles instantly doubted himself. They were a long, long way from a quick fumble in the locker room, or a drunken discussion of jerking off techniques. They were in bed - Scott's bed - and stone-cold sober. It felt shockingly, implausibly real. 

"Hey," said Scott. "I can't think of a way of saying this without it sounding totally weird, but yes. You are totally hot, dude."

It was quite possibly the strangest compliment Stiles had ever received, and he had no idea what to do with it, so he sat up and pulled his t-shirt off instead. Scott watched him with this hungry look in his eyes; Stiles fumbled under the covers and got his zipper undone. A brief struggle later ,his pants and underwear were off and Scott had his broad, strong hand on Stiles' very naked thigh. 

It was a surreal blur, all of it. If he closed his eyes, Stiles could believe he was dreaming, only he really, really didn't want to be. He counted the fingers Scott was pressing into his skin; he bit the inside of his cheek. Five fingers. His cheek hurt. There were no demons, no doors, no terrifying anythings except for the fact that he was naked in bed with his best friend.

"Stiles, are you really okay with this?"

Stiles swallowed, hard. 

"Yeah," he said, softly, trailing his fingertips across Scott's collarbones. "I mean, it's weird as hell but I think I need… we need… I mean, are you okay with it?"

Scott kissed him. Stiles relaxed a bit: things were simpler when Scott was kissing him. His cock was hard, his balls had held the promise of a satisfying ache, and God, this felt so normal. Normal teenage Stiles and normal teenage Scott with normal teenage hormones, just scratching an itch. Scott's breathing was getting quick and the hand on Stiles' thigh squeezed harder. Stiles twisted his tongue around Scott's, moaned into the kiss. 

He pressed his hips forwards, gasping as his cock skidded over Scott's - both hard, both eager, hot with wanting. He could come like this, it wouldn't take much at all, just a bit of friction, the chance to rut against Scott's firm, smooth skin. Scott must have reached the same conclusion because he pulled Stiles in even closer, belly to belly, cock to cock, and Stiles couldn't help but roll his hips into it. He slid his leg further between Scott's, felt the tickle of Scott's balls but Scott didn't so much as flinch. Perfect trust. 

"Wait a sec." Scott twisted around, reaching for the nightstand behind him. There was a thud as Scott's phone hit the floor; Scott swore but kept on with his mission, which transpired to be fetching a bottle of lotion from behind the lamp. He turned back, triumphant, and Stiles hissed in breath at the rub and press of their bodies slotting back into place. 

"Give me your hand," Scott said. 

Stiles obediently held out his hand, cupped, for Scott to squirt lotion into. 

"Slick us up," said Scott.

Stiles plunged his hand between their bodies, trailing lotion everywhere and not caring, until he could wrap his hand around Scott's cock for the first time. It felt strange, not-his, all backwards because he was used to doing this to himself from the other side, and that just made it all the hotter. He let go only to grab the lotion bottle from Scott. He coated both of them, hoping it wasn't too much, not wanting to dull any sensations, but judging from the expression on Scott's face, that wasn't an issue. Scott thrust into Stiles' hand. "Tighter," he murmured.

Stiles clenched his fist a bit and flicked his thumb deftly over the head of Scott's dick. 

"Fuck," said Scott.

"You're so frickin' hard, man."

"You too." Scott pushed his belly against Stiles' cock, all smooth and silky. 

"You like it like this?" said Stiles, pumping Scott's dick in slow, firm movements. Scott nodded, eyes closed, nibbling on his lower lip. It sent a tremble down Stiles' spine to see Scott like that, to know he'd done that. He shifted a bit to get room to move more quickly, and suddenly his cock was sliding along Scott's hipbone and it was all he could do to breathe, it felt so good. He found Scott's mouth with his, suddenly desperate to kiss, to slide his tongue with Scott's, to make it all real, all connected. Scott obliged happily, his fingers in Stiles' hair, fucking Stiles' hand faster, his breath coming in short gasps. Stiles was focused so much on Scott's cock and Scott's mouth and Scott's breathing and Scott's impending orgasm that it was a shock when he felt Scott's hand on his own dick. Stiles cried out, his whole body went rigid with surprise. Scott shushed him, took the kiss tender, and gave Stiles the firm, steady pressure his cock craved. It was amazing. Overwhelming. Scott's touch so different from his own. So fucking brilliant. Stiles couldn't kiss any more, hadn't the co-ordination for anything other than the steady, aching push into Scott's hand, but he kept close, lips brushing by accident from time to time; Scott's breath stuttering out in warm puffs against Stiles' cheek.

"Stiles, I'm gonna…"

"Right there with you, just there, like that, bit harder…" Stiles' release came in bursts, his body singing with adrenalin and then a long, slow slide into oblivion as he came over Scott's hand and his own hand and both their bellies. He found himself staring at Scott's nose as the aftershocks hit him, just because it was in his sightline and he didn't have the power to move anything, not even his gaze. Scott was sniffing, breathing in Stiles and sheets and sex and come; then he clenched tight, his eyes flashed red and his hips jerked. Stiles found the wherewithal from somewhere to be able to stroke him through it, managed to kiss Scott's nose, then his neck, his throat. They subsided, everything wet and sticky, chests heaving, bodies glowing.

"You come, like, a _lot_ ," said Stiles. "There's jizz everywhere. Is that a wolf thing?"

"Half of it's yours," said Scott.

"A third, maybe."

Scott grinned, and reached for the tissues. 

They got cleaned up, then Stiles collected up the soggy tissues, pressing them into a ball. "I'll get rid of these," he told Scott, who shrugged and stretched, all loose-limbed and languid, tangled in sticky sheets.

The bathroom light seemed too bright. Stiles squinted and tossed the tissues into the toilet. He flushed, washed his hands and dried them. He was wetting a washcloth to take back to Scott when caught sight of his reflection. He froze.

The face staring back at him was flushed, a little happy, wrecked and exhausted but okay. Okay.

Stiles. He was still Stiles. More Stiles than he had been for days. 

For now.

He wanted to cry but the tears weren't there; the washcloth dripped onto his naked feet and he swore softly. He shook it over the sink and padded back into the bedroom.

Scott was asleep, spread out on his back with the trace of a smile on his face. He barely shifted when Stiles drew the quilt over him and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. Stiles abandoned the washcloth on the floor and pulled his clothes back on. He turned off the lamp and took himself to the armchair. There he sat with his feet curled up under him, and watched Scott sleep.

The only thing Stiles wanted in the whole world was to keep them safe. Scott, his Dad, Lydia, Allison, Melissa, Derek - all of them. 

By dawn he'd worked out how to do that. 

Eichen House.

*


	2. Monday, December 12th

Stiles turned another page he hadn't read, and glanced up at Scott from the corner of his eye. He was looking at a series of supply and demand graphs in the text book in front of him, with that little frown of concentration on his face. 

Stiles turned the page again.

Scott looked up. 

"Hey, buddy!" said Stiles. "You okay?"

"Fine," said Scott, without a single tremble in his voice. "You need a hand with that?"

Stiles followed Scott's gaze down to the book he wasn't reading. "Nah, I'm good."

"Really? What was the last thing you read?"

"Me? Of this? Oh, I don't know, something about…" Stiles fumbled around for any kind of hints as to what the book was about, but there was nothing there, so he took a clue from the picture on the page in front of him. "Gunboats. I'm pretty sure there were gunboats. Hey, do you remember those models that guy used to make back in seventh grade? He lived on your street. Used to hang them in his yard and smash them to pieces with a bat, like they were a pinata or something. I'm pretty sure one of them was a gunboat."

Scott had that patient, calm look on his face. Infuriatingly calm. A mask of calm. An infuriating mask of calm hiding all the pain he felt inside since Allison died. Infuriating but necessary. Poor Scott.

"Stiles, you have to study. We've got PSATS coming up next semester and you missed a hell of a lot of school while you were-"

"Evil?"

"Sick. I was going to say sick."

Stiles looked down at his book, letters neat and orderly and blessedly legible. He'd never stop being grateful for that. "I'll be fine, man. I've got Lydia's notes for everything else, and how important is History, right?"

Scott picked up Stiles' favourite highlighter (chunky, chisel-ended, cap intact so as not to get dry and scratchy) and threw it at him. Stiles scrabbled to catch it.

"History's very important," said Scott. "Get reading, okay?"

"Sure," said Stiles, ripping the cap off the highlighter with his teeth. "If you say so, Mr Alpha Study Partner."

"Yep," said Scott, and turned his attention back to his economics paper.

Stiles stared at the picture of the gunboat for a while, before his attention was dragged inevitably back to Scott. Scott was writing fast, scrawling his interpretations of the graphs across the paper in his tight, staccato handwriting. 

"Don't make me call Lydia, Stiles," said Scott, without looking up.

"Not necessary! Completely not necessary! Witness me, here, studying. Jeez." Not that seeing Lydia was ever a bad thing, but she could get very firm and persistent about academic study, and besides, Stiles was here to look after Scott.

Highlighter in hand, chair balanced perfectly on its back two legs, Stiles drew together all the concentration he could muster, and began to read. Pearl Harbour. For a moment his imagination was captured: apparently the Sacramento was docked with a ship called the Jarvis, and that was such a weird name for a ship, more like an English butler. Stiles considered sharing this with Scott but Scott was deep in concentration, his pencil scratching on the paper. There was someone coughing in the stacks behind him but it didn't seem to bother him. Stiles wondered what it must be like for Scott, hearing all those things all the time. How noisy it must be. So many coughs and sneezes and scraping chairs and heartbeats. Heartbeats. Allison's heartbeat and Christ, Scott would never hear it again. Ever. He'd actually heard it _stop_. 

"Okay, man." Scott was standing, unzipping his backpack. "Let's get out of here."

"What? Why?" Was it late? Had time gone weird again? It did that a lot lately. "Are you done?"

"No, but I think you are." Scott's voice was soft, gentle. "Dude, you're crying. Come on."

"What?" Stiles noticed for the first time the blots of wet on his book, felt the sting of tears on his cheeks. Fuck. He sniffed messily and wiped his arm on the sleeve of his shirt. Scott shoved Stiles' stuff into his bag for him with unbearable kindness, and hoiked it up on his shoulder with his own. "Come on." He pulled Stiles to his feet. "Wanna come back to mine? Mom's out, we could order takeout."

Stiles nodded. After all, it wouldn't be a good idea for Scott to be alone. "Sorry, man." He wiped his eyes again. "Highlighter fumes, I guess."

"It's okay," said Scott. "Come on."

So like Scott. Always so quick to mask his pain so he could help everyone else.

*

There was a sense of calm at Scott's house. It echoed, reassuringly empty. Scott's room was unusually tidy, and he'd changed the pictures. It looked kind of grown up. 

"I like what you've done with the place," Stiles said.

"Huh?" Scott chucked their bags in the corner and flopped down on the bed.

"Haven't been here for a while, with your mom off sick and your dad hanging around looking like the last puppy left in the shop. Did you get new pillows or something?"

"Yeah. Gift from my dad."

"Looks good. Very mature."

"How can pillows be mature?"

"I think it's the colour. Brown is a very adult colour."

Scott snort-laughed. "I liked the old ones better. They were softer."

"I'm sure you'll wear them in."

Next thing Stiles knew, there was a pillow thumping into the side of his face, and Scott was laughing. 

Stiles pulled the offending pillow onto his lap and stroked the fabric. "I see what you mean. Rougher than it looks. Manly, though."

Another pillow flew at him, this time hitting him square in the face, and, well, some things Stiles couldn't let pass. He threw one pillow back and used the other as a shield, but Scott quickly gave up throwing them and hit Stiles with one, and from then it was all-out war. Stiles won an early advantage, because Scott was way too worried about inadvertently using werewolf powers, and that made him hesitant. But no sooner had Stiles got Scott beaten onto his back with Stiles astride his hips, bashing him repeatedly about the ears with two plump, fluffy pillows, than Scott remembered Stiles was ticklish. The next thing he knew he was giggling helplessly and flailing, while Scott rolled them both over and declared himself the winner with a triumphant air-punch. At which point Stiles became suddenly and acutely aware of Scott's thighs bracketing his hips, and Scott's ass resting on his rapidly hardening cock.

He wanted to apologise, or make some wisecrack to relieve the potential embarrassment of it all, but he was still laughing helplessly, barely able to gasp for breath. Scott - who had become a _lot_ more observant than when they used to play-wrestle in middle school - looked startled, but not pissed-off startled. At all.

"Dude," said Scott, grinning at him.

Stiles waved his arms about, still unable to speak reliably.

Scott rocked back on his heels. He was placed perfectly on the ridge of Stiles' erection; if they'd been naked it would have been nestling happily between Scott's perfect, round butt cheeks, caressed by Scott's big, fluffy balls.

Stiles' giggles subsided at last, and he managed to get a few words out. "Hey, man, d'you wanna get off me?"

"Nah," said Scott, and leaned down and kissed him.

There was no way in hell that Stiles wasn't going to kiss him back. Scott's mouth was warm and inviting and he kept moving his hips, rubbing insistently against Stiles' cock. Stiles slid his fingers through Scott's hair, his thumb coming to rest along the smooth line of Scott's jaw. There was a hint of stubble there (Scott had told him his beard grew faster now he was an alpha) and Stiles found it surprisingly appealing. 

Scott paused to nibble at Stiles' lower lip, leaning into Stiles' hand. "You wanna do stuff?" he said.

"Yeah," said Stiles. "Stuff sounds good."

"Cool." Scott looked really pleased, like he hadn't been sure Stiles would say yes, his eyes all crinkly with delight. It was one of the things Stiles loved about Scott: whatever was going on in their lives, however much of a big alpha werewolf superhero he'd become, he was still as uncomplicated and honest as the day they'd met, and Stiles could read him like a book. And at the moment Scott-the-book was all about teenage lust and affection and an infectious sense of joy at what they were about to do. 

"You wanna get naked, or…?" Stiles asked, twining a strand of Scott's hair around his index finger.

"Yeah, naked. Naked's good," said Scott. 

Stiles stole another kiss before they sat up. Scott pulled his sweater and t-shirt off in one go, revealing the usual impressive expanse of golden skin and ripply muscles, and then he helped Stiles out of his shirt too, or tried to. Things got a bit tangled and in the end it was easiest for Scott to give up and focus on himself, while Stiles struggled out of his own clothes. Scott was naked first, not least because Stiles was distracted by the sight of Scott's very perfect ass. They were no strangers to each others' bodies, but Scott had changed so much over the past few months. Being a werewolf had had its impact but as an alpha everything was that little bit tighter, stronger, more beautiful. Stiles, meanwhile, remained Stiles. In fact he was lankier and feebler than ever; the nogitsune never really got the hang of human food and since Stiles had been free of it he'd had little appetite. 

Stiles folded his arms across his chest, and watched Scott pull off his boxers. 

"Under the covers?" Stiles said. "It's a bit, um, cold."

"Sure," said Scott, and tugged back the quilt so Stiles could scurry under it. 

Stiles wriggled out of his shorts and let himself sink into the easy familiarity of it being just him, and Scott. Scott's hand was firm on Stiles' thigh and it was beyond easy to press into him, all that warmth and flexing muscle and Scott's tongue in his mouth and Scott's fingers trembling, and Stiles thinking about licking Scott's earlobe and then actually doing it.

They didn't usually make out, not like this. It felt like something different, deeper, but Kira, and Stiles couldn't go there, couldn't allow…

He broke the kiss and said, panting, "So, Scotty. What d'ya want? Blow job? Hand job? Bit of dick jousting?"

"I want to fuck you," said Scott.

Stiles stared at Scott, his heart racing, stunned. A mental image formed of Scott on top of him, slowly sinking inside him….

"Oh," said Stiles. "That's… um, honest of you."

"Or we could do something else," said Scott.

"No, yeah, let's," said Stiles, surprising himself. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

"We don't have to."

"Just be gentle with me," said Stiles. "It's my first time."

Scott nuzzled Stiles' neck, taking in the scent of him. "That's okay, it's mine, too."

"Really? You never…?"

"I haven't fooled around with anyone but you. No male anyones, anyway."

"I always wondered about you and Isaac."

"Isaac? No, God. No."

Stiles felt suddenly pleased about that. "But you can do it up the ass with girls, too, man."

Stiles watched Scott take that in. His eyes went wide. 

"Ah," said Stiles. "So you didn't…?"

"No, never. I mean, really? Not just in porn?"

"So they tell me, my friend."

"Wow."

Stiles sincerely hoped that if Scott and Kira did get properly together, he hadn't set her up for any nasty surprises.

"So," said Stiles. "First for both of us, then. Perfect."

"Yeah," said Scott, sliding his hand down Stiles' side to rest on his hip. "Perfect."

Scott's hand was hot, and it felt really good just resting there. Stiles tipped his face up and Scott kissed him; he tasted of spearmint gum and his tongue was very assertive and it made Stiles' fingers tighten in Scott's hair. Scott's cock pressed into his thigh, stiff and hot and oh God, Scott was going to put that up his ass and fuck him with it. 

Scott lifted his head, his thumb smoothing over Stiles' hipbone. "It's okay," Scott said, kissing the place on Stiles' neck that gave him shivers. "I won't hurt you."

"Course you won't," said Stiles, too quickly. He could feel Scott smiling against his skin. "You think I'm scared?"

Scott nuzzled in right behind Stiles' ear and took a long, deep breath. "Not any more." He nibbled Stiles' earlobe.

"You smelt it on me?"

Scott gave the slightest of shrugs, his hand moving up to the very, very ticklish spot at Stiles' waist. Except it didn't tickle now. Not exactly. Mmm. 

"I'm gonna have to say no werewolf powers." Stiles' voice came out as a desperate, squeaky thing. "It gives you an unfair advantage."

"Can't help smelling you. Actually you smell really… exciting."

"I do?"

"Uh-huh." Scott licked a slow, wet line around the shell of Stiles' ear. "Taste pretty good, too."

"You're so fucking weird," said Stiles, ridiculously pleased.

Scott rolled over, straddling Stiles' thighs. Stiles caught sight of Scott's tattoo, the thick black lines glistening in a stream of sunlight. He closed his eyes. Then Scott shifted his hips and his dick nudged Stiles'. Both hard as hell, and Stiles very suddenly _wanted_. Wanted a lot. Overwhelmingly. _Now_.

"Now," he whimpered, but Scott just stroked his hair in an infuriatingly tender way, and made this little tutting, shushing sound that drove Stiles just a little bit insane. 

"I would like to make it absolutely clear," said Stiles, breathlessly, "that I am not the girl here. Just because you're going to stick your very lovely dick up my ass and God help me I really, really want you to, does not mean I am any less the extremely manly, male, man-person I was when we started this."

Scott frowned, tilted his head to one side. It made the tendons in his big, strong shoulders ripple a little. Stiles had never felt weedier in his life. 

"Sorry," said Stiles, quietly. "Just needed to make that clear."

"Am I doing something? A wolf thing, or an alpha thing, or….?"

Scott was full of concern and confusion, and for a second they were eleven years old again and Stiles was trying to work out how to explain what wet dreams were. He reached up and touched Scott's hair, at the temples, where it always tried to curl. 

"I won't break, Scott."

"And I won't hurt you." 

"In that case," said Stiles, trailing his fingers down the back of Scott's neck. "We need lube."

"Oh, yeah! You got any?"

Stiles' heart sank. "Yes, Scott, of course I do. I carry a vat of the stuff in my backpack at all times, for all the prodigious sex I'm not having! Of course I don't!"

"Just kidding," said Scott, with an infuriating grin. "Hang on, I'll get it."

He squirmed over Stiles to reach for the drawer in his nightstand, while Stiles tried to resist a very strong urge to rut against Scott's belly, or possibly to hit him for teasing. Scott tossed a pump dispenser of lube and a condom onto the bed beside them, and shut the drawer with a loud bang that made Stiles jump.

"Well, that's … good, then," Stiles said. He ran his fingers tentatively down Scott's spine, coming to rest in the dip just before the perfect curve of his ass. 

Scott kissed him, and everything went back to glorious no-thought. Just Scott's mouth on his, warm, damp, breathless; Scott's touch on his skin blazing trails of need and excitement; Scott's body grinding against his, belly-to-belly, cock-to-cock.

Then Scott took his kisses to Stiles' jaw and neck, resting for a moment at his shoulder while Scott shimmied down the bed. Stiles was so far gone that he didn't register what Scott was doing until he felt the first, wet kiss on the tip of his cock. He let out a squeaky sort of moan and could feel Scott grinning, the bastard, knowing exactly what this did to Stiles: the slow licks, the nuzzling - oh _fuck_ the nuzzling - and the firm grip on the root of his dick that kept him anchored in the tease. Stiles squirmed and Scott enveloped his dick in his mouth, tongue swirling lazily, not enough of anything to put Stiles in danger of coming, but plenty enough to distract him. Because next he knew Scott was stroking behind Stiles' balls and Stiles was opening his legs because how the fuck could he _not_ , and then Scott touched Stiles' hole with one gentle, wet finger and Stiles thought he might explode from sheer fucking carnal pleasure. Fuck.

"Fuck."

"Good?" Scott asked, and wasn't that the most stupid question ever? Stiles couldn't trust his voice to work so he nodded his head vigorously instead. 

Scott chuckled to himself, and Stiles heard the squelch of the lube dispenser as Scott recoated his fingers. Stiles' dick twitched, and for an instant he missed the heat of Scott's mouth on him, but then Scott was rubbing the pad of his finger over a zillion nerve-endings, and then there was pressure and he breathed and just like that, Scott had one curious, agile finger inside him. 

Scott knelt at Stiles' side, Stiles' leg draped over his thighs, absently stroking Stiles' knee with one hand, while he slipped a second finger in Stiles' hole alongside the first. His palm brushed Stiles' balls and suddenly coming was moving very quickly up Stiles' agenda. He squeaked, and Scott stopped, instant concern. 

" 's fine," Stiles managed to say. "Too good. Ver' good, jus' don't wanna, yet, don't…"

Scott grinned, pulling away until only the very tip of his finger was there, keeping contact, not moving. Stiles took a deep breath and reached down to give his cock a magic squeeze, relieved and sad in equal measure as the wave rolled back. 

"Doesn't matter, dude, we can go again later," said Scott. "My mom's shift doesn't end for hours."

" 'm fine," said Stiles. Because they'd come too far now, this was to good and he really, really wanted it to happen.

"Cool," said Scott, and then both fingers were back and with so much lube it made a sticky, sucking sound as Scott pushed in. It was one of the most obscene, amazing sounds Stiles had ever heard. 

"That okay?" said Scott.

Stiles nodded vigorously and wrapped his fingers loosely around his cock; it was all he could do to keep from jerking off frantically and coming in three seconds flat, but he needed something, some familiar, steady kind of touch to take the edge off what Scott was doing. Because he was doing things to places Stiles hadn't even known he had, and it was suddenly very clear why Danny always had that sly little grin on his face.

"Wow," said Scott. "That's really intense."

Stiles managed to nod.

"Especially…." Scott's fingers wriggled around and pressed, and wriggled and _pressed_ and-

"Holy _shit_ ," yelled Stiles.

"Good?" Scott was smirking at him.

This time Stiles really couldn't answer; whatever Scott was doing, it was completely fucking brilliant, and when he stopped, slowly pulling his fingers out, Stiles could have cried. 

"Scott," he whimpered. "For the love of God, don't stop."

"Not stopping."

Scott was breathing hard, his voice very very deep; Stiles opened his eyes to see Scott rolling a condom down his dick. And Scott was shaking. Honest to God trembling as he squirted more lube into his hand as he got himself ready for….

Stiles swallowed, hard. "Come on then," he whispered. "Let's do this."

Scott nodded, and there was the trace of a smile, but mostly he just looked hungry. He positioned himself between Stiles' legs, arranging him how he wanted him, open and ready, and Stiles might have been nervous, but Scott was touching him again and everything was fine. Really, really fine.

Next he knew Scott was sliding his fingers out and pushing his cock at Stiles' hole instead. Firm, hot, insistent and Stiles just plain _wanted_ it. 

Scott's hand was on his hip, holding him steady. "Relax, Stiles. 's okay."

Stiles took a deep breath, let it out slowly… and then Scott was sliding inside him, making a really weird, amazing sort of keening sound, and Stiles burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. It was so fucking fantastic, and it was Scott, and it was right, and easy, and he felt so _good_.

Scott kept making little pushes until his balls nuzzled right up to Stiles' ass. Then he paused and looked down with a goofy grin on his face, leaned in and kissed him. Stiles draped his arms over Scott's shoulders and kissed him right back, unable to resist the urge to start rocking his hips. Because Scott's cock was pressing in places Stiles really needed rubbing, and he couldn't wait any longer. Fortunately Scott was on the same page; without taking his mouth from Stiles', he started to fuck. He went in a slow, sensual rhythm that Stiles found a pleasant surprise - he'd expected Scott to rabbit-fuck, which just went to show that you can't tell everything about a guy by the way he jerks off. After a few strokes, Scott pushed in really deep - and stopped.

He stopped moving his hips, and he stopped kissing. His eyes were screwed up tight and his arms were trembling. Then he let out a long, tight groan, and Stiles realised he was looking at Scott's orgasm face. It was a lot less blissful than usual, but unmistakable nonetheless. Scott was coming, right inside him. The thought was as hot as it was surprising, and Stiles' cock twitched out a blurt of pre-come in sympathy.

Scott hung his head, all done in double quick time. "Shit."

"It's okay," said Stiles, meaning it. "Could happen to anyone, right?"

"Never happened to me before. Well apart from once, when Allison-"

"Woah, woah. Details not required, dude. Are you ok?"

Scott looked sheepish and a bit adorable, and Stiles felt a huge surge of affection for him. "Yeah. You?"

"I'm great. We've got hours, right?"

Scott nodded, moving back, moving away, his cock leaving Stiles' body and firing up every single nerve ending on the way out. 

"Whenever you're ready to go again," said Stiles, flushed and trembly and knowing his balls were going to start complaining any minute. "I'll be here."

Scott hopped off the bed and dropped a kiss onto Stiles' forehead, which felt really odd but nice all the same. 

"I'll just go clean up," said Scott. "Back in a sec, I promise."

Stiles watched Scott bound off to the bathroom, then lay staring at the ceiling, contemplating what had just happened. 

"What're you smiling about?" Scott asked when he reappeared with a towel in one hand and a fresh condom packet in the other. 

"Nothin'," said Stiles, smugly.

"You're not laughing at me, are you?"

"Don't be an idiot. Come here."

Stiles tugged Scott onto the bed, and rolled them so Scott was lying on his back, Stiles tucked into his side, and kissed him. He stroked over Scott's chest and belly, stopping just short of his cock which lay quiet and mostly soft, pointing at Scott's hip.

"Can I touch it?" Stiles asked. "Or is it oversensitive or anything?"

"It's fine. Touch away."

Stiles shimmied down the bed, but kept his hand still on Scott's belly. It was his nose that came into contact with Scott's cock first. He nuzzled at his foreskin and rubbed his cheek against the plump length of him. Scott laughed, but he didn't flinch or pull away; he reached down to graze his fingertips through Stiles' hair, watching him.

Stiles licked his lips, then kissed Scott's cock, down near the root. Scott gasped; his belly quivered. Stiles kissed it again, dragging his lips up the length of it, darting his tongue at the tip. It tasted of come and lube and soap, and just a little bit of condom, but more than anything it tasted of Scott: familiar, safe, wolfy, good. Stiles took Scott's cock into his mouth, everything wet and sloppy. It began to harden immediately, twitching to life on Stiles' tongue and quickly getting too big for Stiles to fit it all in his mouth at once. He wrapped his fingers around the root, and looked up. Scott's hips started to rock a little; his eyes were closed. He looked completely lost in it, making little throaty noises whenever his cock hit the back of Stiles' throat. Stiles' cock, meanwhile, was throbbing, and it would have taken an obscenely short period of time to get them both off. 

"Dude, wait."

Scott gripped Stiles' shoulders, holding him still. Stiles looked up, mouth stuffed with cock, eyebrows raised. 

"I want to finish what I started," said Scott.

Stiles let Scott's dick drop from his mouth. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," said Scott. "Pass me the condom."

Stiles reached eagerly for the nightstand, heart racing, but a sudden thought stopped him.

"Why?" he said.

"Why what?"

"Condom, why? You have the whole werewolf healing thing going on, right?"

"Sure, but safe sex isn't just about disease."

Stiles' jaw dropped. He could tell the exact moment the truth of the situation struck Scott: his eyes sparked with it and the faintest blush stained his cheekbones. He looked as though he was trying not to laugh. And then he did laugh.

"Jesus, Scott! You remember the little talk we had about me not being a girl? Guess what - it's actually, honestly, properly _true_. I am a man. As a man I cannot, I promise, conceive or carry any of your little werewolf puppies. However adorable they may be. Okay?"

"You think my puppies would be adorable?"

"That's what you took away from all that? Really? Jesus, Scott, I don't know what to do with you."

"Let me fuck you," said Scott.

And damn, that was so unfair of him. Because as soon as he said it, Stiles' stomach flipped and his heart was racing and parts of his brain he needed to tell Scott off were rapidly closing down. Scott's hands were on him, pulling his hips so Stiles found natural to go on hands and knees. Scott licked up Stile's spine. Slick fingers opened him up - so much easier this time - and then Scott was kneeling between Stiles' legs and pushing, shoving Stiles' shoulders down to get the angle right. Scott was inside him. Covering him. Nipping at his ear. And it was all Stiles could to do breathe.

"You're not a girl," Scott whispered into his ear. "I like that about you."

"What does that even-" but Scott was fucking him, properly fucking, and Stiles' words deserted him. Long rolling strokes, each more intense than the last. Every three or four thrusts Scott would push himself right inside and wait, while Stiles felt impossibly full, stuffed with hard, willing cock, and it was just the best feeling ever. Scott grasped Stiles' dick, and Stiles suddenly, fiercely wanted to come. He wanted to come all over Scott's bed with Scott's dick up his ass and fuck, what if Scott came too and then there would be Scott's come up-

Stiles yelled out; Scott sank deep and it was _perfect_. Everything went tight and delicious agony for one split second; the first spurt splashed right up to Stiles' chest. Scott rode it out with him, thrusting him though every convulsion, every pulse of it, until all there was for Stiles was gasping breath and bliss and a certain knowledge that nothing in the world would ever be the same again. In a good way.

"Stiles, don't… I'm gonna…"

Scott wailed with it; he held Stiles up with one strong arm hooked around his stomach, which was just as well because Stiles' limbs had turned to jelly and he wasn't sure he could have kept upright under the force of Scott's last few thrusts. 

"I can smell you," Scott muttered in Stiles' ear. "I can smell your… everything."

Then he loosened his grip and they collapsed in an untidy heap. They lay there, all sticky and tangled limbs, panting and it was probably a bit gross but absolutely fine. Eventually Stiles realised his arms were kind of trapped underneath him, and his shoulders ached, and his balls were a bit squished between his thigh and Scott's. He wriggled forcefully until Scott got the hint and rolled off him. Stiles stretched a long, delicious stretch and curled up on his side. Scott settled behind him, one arm thrown lazily over Stiles' belly, hand resting over Stiles' heart.

"Hey," said Stiles. "I'm the little spoon. Why am I the little spoon?"

"You laid like that," said Scott.

"We should go get cleaned up."

Scott wriggled closer, and kissed Stiles' neck. "Not yet. Want to smell you some more."

That was such a ridiculous, gross, werewolfy thing to say that Stiles couldn't help but smile. 

He put his hand over Scott's, softly running his fingers between Scott's fingers, until Scott relaxed and Stiles recognised his sleeping breath. 

*

Stiles drifted, and must have fallen asleep because there were rabbits. Stiles and Scott had let them escape from the vets by accident and Lydia came to help round them all up again. The little fuckers kept hopping out of reach, and Lydia found watching Stiles chasing the bastards absolutely hysterical. And then he opened his eyes, and there was no Lydia, no rabbits. Just Scott's room, lit golden in the late afternoon sun, and the sound of someone crying.

Oh.

Stiles rolled out of bed and pulled on his boxers. The bathroom door was shut. Stiles knocked.

"Hey, Scott. You okay in there?"

There was a scuffle, a tap came on and Scott called out in a voice that might have fooled anyone else: "Yeah, fine. You okay?"

"Sure, I'm good. You gonna let me in?"

"I'm just brushing my teeth."

"It's okay, I've seen teeth before. Open the door?"

There was a pause. The tap went off, the lock clicked and the door swung open.

"I'm fine," said Scott. His cheeks were blotchy, lashes still wet and there was a pile of soggy tissues on the floor next to the bin. 

"Let's face it," said Stiles. "Neither of us is fine, are we?"

Scott nodded, and a single tear rolled down the side of his nose. A sob caught in his throat and he crumpled - for a second Stiles forgot about his werewolf co-ordination and went to catch him. But Scott went gracefully to the floor, back against the tile wall, hunched like he was trying to make himself small enough to disappear. Stiles dropped down beside him and took his hand, sandwiching it between his, tangling their fingers together. 

"You wanna talk about it?" Stiles said.

"Allison," Scott said. "Allison, I can't… it's not… I…."

Stiles closed his eyes, let his own pain come and go, not touching it, not looking at it, not daring.

"I know."

"I just…."

Scott cried like it was being pulled out of him against his will. Stiles squeezed his hand. 

"I m-miss her. No, more than that. It's more than missing her. Deeper than hurting."

"I know, buddy," said Stiles, softly.

"I can't…."

Stiles' guts clenched. Scott's grief was his grief; Scott's pain was his pain; and worse of all, there was this voice at the back of his head that whispered in a voice too much nogitsune to ignore. _'You did this, Stiles. You. They were trying to save you. It's your fault.'_

Scott sat up a little straighter, squared his shoulders. His eyes glittered and he sniffed, loudly. Stiles let go of his hand long enough to tug the box of tissues off the counter and deposit them in Scott's lap. 

"I dreamed of her," Scott said. 

"Shit."

"It was okay. It wasn't a nightmare or anything. We were in the library, doing a project or something, and she was talking to Lydia and her hair was perfect. And then I woke up. Most boring dream ever, eh?"

"I think even Ms Morrell would struggle to read too much into that one." 

"Yeah. It hurt, though, when I woke up."

"When my mom died, I used to dream she picked me up from school, just like she always used to, remember? The bell would go and we'd run outside and she'd be there with Melissa, and they'd be laughing. I'd race you to the gate but by the time we got there she'd be gone. I'd search the whole crowd of parents and kids, but I couldn't find her, and eventually everyone melted away and it was just me, and my dad, standing by his car in uniform. And he'd smile at me with all this pain in his eyes and, and I… I…."

"What?" Scott was watching him intently, gripping his hand.

_I knew it was all my fault._

"I don't know. I'd wake up, I guess."

"And feel like crap?"

Stiles nodded. "Crap doesn't come close."

"I'm sorry."

"About my dreams? At least I know they're dreams." He counted fingers, a compulsion he wasn't ready to let go just yet. 

"Have you told Ms Morrell about them?"

"Nah, I haven't had that one for ages. I think I told the shrink they made me see at the hospital. He said it was normal. It's just your brain needs time to make sense of it all. Processing, whirring all the cogs into place." 

"I suppose."

"It does get easier," said Stiles, staring at their joined hands, rubbing Scott's thumb with his. "Not better, but… not so raw."

"It's like the darkness," Scott said, so quietly Stiles had to lean in to be sure he'd heard him. "Like Deaton said, after the ritual. There will always be a darkness. This feels the same. And it's always going to be there, isn't it?"

Stiles nodded. 

"I can live with that," said Scott. "If it means I don't forget her."

He brought Stiles' hand to his lips, and kissed his knuckles, like a promise.

*


	3. Saturday, January 21st

Outside the school everything was chaos and mayhem, but the relief in the air was unmistakable. Stiles' heart should have been soaring, would have been, were it not weighed down with guilt. He couldn't forget how hurt Malia had looked. Or how shitty he'd felt to have deceived her for so long.

"Stiles? Stiles, wait up!"

Scott bounded towards him. He'd left Kira standing on her own by the entrance, hugging herself against the sudden cold of the outside world. 

"I'm going home," Stiles said. "Dad's gonna be a while, and I want to get cleaned up. Do you guys want a ride anywhere?"

"Yes! Yeah, uh… maybe. I'm not sure if Kira…."

"Go ask her. Only don't take too long. I've got someone else's blood and brains all over me and it's getting tacky."

Scott grimaced. "Bit like Jackie Kennedy," he said. "You remember that documentary where-"

"No!" Stiles put a hand on Scott's shoulder and squeezed very hard. "You did not just compare me to a dead president's wife, okay?"

"I didn't mean-"

"You have ten seconds to go ask Kira if she wants to come with, and then I'll be on my way home to stand under the shower until the water goes cold. Very cold."

"'Course. Sorry, won't be long."

Scott ran back to Kira and they spoke for a few animated minutes, then they hugged (Stiles thought he saw Kira grope his ass briefly but he couldn't be sure) and parted, waving at each other until she was distracted by Lydia's mom. Scott jogged back to Stiles. 

"She's going with her Dad," he said. "He's being debriefed."

"Bet that's gonna take a while."

"It's okay, she gets the whole…" Scott waggled his fingers at Stiles' head. "Presidential situation."

"Will you stop with that?" 

"What she actually said was 'It's okay, you need Stiles time'."

"She said that?"

"Yep."

"Well, that's very understanding of her, Scott. You've chosen wisely with her, I hope you give her the appreciation she deserves."

Scott grinned, and they set out for the parking lot.

*

Scott was quiet in the Jeep, busy with his phone; texting people, making sure everyone was okay. People often underestimated the administrative burdens of being an alpha. It wasn't all growling and heroically saving people from monsters. 

The problem with the quiet was that Stiles' mind turned to other things, and specifically Malia. The look he'd seen in her eyes had woken up dark, sad places in him, and the worse thing was, she was right. He should have told her. Of course he should have told her. 

"Hey, Scott? D'you think maybe we should go look for Malia?"

Scott looked up from his phone. "She looked like she wanted to be alone for a while, man."

"Wanted, yes, but needed? I'm not so sure. What if she goes straight to Peter, all disillusioned with us, and gets herself hurt?"

"I don't think he would hurt her. She is his daughter, after all."

"Scott, for a big bad werewolf you can be way too idealistic sometimes."

"I'm not bad," Scott protested.

"My mistake. You're a big, _good_ idealistic werewolf. Remind me to get you a little bag of werewolf treats and rub your belly sometime."

Scott grinned. "Is that a promise?"

Stiles glanced sideways at him and found himself grinning back. It was impossible not to when Scott looked at you like that, even when you could feel someone else's blood drying in your hair. 

Scott put his phone in his jeans pocket. "Whatever Malia's doing, she can handle herself. I really think she just needed to get away from us for a bit, to cool down, consider her options, that kind of thing."

"Us? Don't you mean me?"

"Stiles, I'm the Alpha, and I didn't tell her either. Why wouldn't she blame me?"

"Because it was me she trusted. More than anyone. Sorry, Scott, more even than you. And I just chucked it in her face."

"You were trying to protect her."

"Yeah, well. Turns out I'm not so fucking good at protecting the people I love." Tears prickled at Stiles' eyes; he furiously blinked them away.

"That's not true," said Scott. "You were ready to die for us today. And it's not the first time."

"I do what anyone would do."

"No. Seriously, Stiles. You've saved us so many times. Me, Malia, Kira, Lydia, even Derek."

"So? You do the same, and more. Fucking hell, Scott, I'm pretty sure you've averted a freakin' apocalypse at least once."

"But you're human. And it's not a contest."

"It's not just the saving, okay? There's two sides to the equation, and the saving's just half of it. What about the killing, Scott? Don't you think that kind of wipes off the good side of the slate?"

Stiles' cheeks burned; his hands were trembling on the steering wheel. He stared hard at the road, aware he wasn't really seeing anything, and braced himself for what Scott was about to say.

"It wasn't you, Stiles."

Stiles couldn't answer. Everything was balled up tight inside him, and once it unravelled, even a little bit… no.

"Stiles-"

"Scott, can we not? Please? I'm exhausted, I've just been dumped and I'm covered with the blood of some douchebag assassin and I really, really want to go home and shower, okay?"

He could feel Scott's eyes on him, could imagine the compassion and sympathy on his face. But Stiles kept his own gaze fixed very firmly on the road, which had brought him blessedly close now to his own house.

"Of course," Scott said, softly.

Stiles felt a stab of guilt. He wanted to apologise, but he wasn't willing to risk starting the whole stupid conversation up again. Scott had leaned back in his seat and was staring sadly out of the window. For fuck's sake. 

Stiles turned into his street. His house was in darkness, the only blacked-out shadow in a row of warmly lit family homes. He pulled onto the driveway and turned off the engine. Scott still looked miserable.

"You can come in if you like," said Stiles. 

"Yeah?" Scott's face lit up like the sun. 

"Yeah," said Stiles, and hopped down from the jeep. Scott rushed to the the front door, where Stiles fumbled his key into the lock and got it open. 

"You want me to call for pizza while you're in the shower?" said Scott. 

Stiles wasn't sure he'd ever be able to eat anything again, what with the fear and repulsion in his belly and the throat-crushing pain of losing Malia, never mind the remnants of a dead bastard clinging to his skin, but he nodded anyway. "Extra olives," he said. "I'm trying to eat more vegetables."

Scott went through the door first, pulling out his phone to scroll for the pizza number. Stiles followed wearily, slamming the door behind them, flicking on the lights. Now the shower was close he was itching to get properly clean. He took the stairs two at a time and ran to his room. He ditched his hoodie on the floor, then pulled off his t-shirt, which went straight in the bin: no way could he get that much blood out - and it was disturbing how much he knew about dealing with blood-stained laundry. He got his jeans stuck briefly around his ankles, because he forgot to take his shoes off first. But after a struggle that only briefly rendered him an untidy heap on the bed, he achieved total nudity. He grabbed a towel and fled for the bathroom. He could hear Scott in the kitchen below, ordering pizza. 

Stiles ran the shower water to a fraction off scalding before he got in, and then he stood there, watching the blood rinse off him. He poured half a bottle of shampoo in his hair and scrubbed it 'til his scalp stung. He scoured his face with soap, even his lips and his eyelids and nose and ears, every bit he could get to: he didn't care about the sting or the taste so long as there was hope that he might, eventually, feel clean.

He was still standing under the water when the doorbell rang, and Scott yelled up the stairs that the pizza had arrived. The water cascading down Stiles' body ran clean now, not so much as the faintest tinge of pink. His hair squeaked, his skin glistened. Stiles forced himself to get out of the shower, and believe himself clean.

He wrapped one towel around his waist and chucked another over his head, then went straight downstairs, towelling his hair vigorously as he went. 

"Here," Scott said, shoving a large pizza box at him. "You want a soda?"

"Sure, thanks." 

They sat opposite each other at the small kitchen table, and Stiles decided he should try and get one slice of pizza down; he hadn't eaten all day, after all. But as it turned out, it tasted so good that the first slice was demolished with indecent speed, and he was soon tucking into the second. He shook the towel off his head.

"You're making your orgasmic food noises," said Scott, grinning. 

"That's because this is pure cheesy freakin' goodness, man." Stiles rolled his third slice up into a tube and shoved it all in his mouth at once.

"You're gross," said Scott.

Stiles shrugged and chewed.

Scott's phone pinged. "Kira," he explained. "Her father has put her on some old Korean herbal remedy in case she's still got some trace of virus in her blood."

"She looked fine to me."

"She is fine. Deaton said so, even her mom. But her dad can be a bit over-protective."

"No kidding. Good thing he likes you."

"Sure."

Scott became suddenly fascinated by picking bits of mushroom off his pizza. 

"He does like you, right?" said Stiles.

"Yeah, yeah. They're both great, actually. Kira's great."

Stiles watched Scott round up the discarded bits of mushroom into the corner of his pizza box. "You guys are still..?" Stiles said.

"Oh, yeah! I'm taking her to the movies."

"Yay! That sounds great!"

"It is! She's great, she really is."

"Why am I sensing a big old 'but' coming this way?"

"No! No but. She hasn't got any but at all."

Stiles laughed, and Scott looked up at last. "I mean her butt is just fine," he said, in his best humouring-Stiles voice. "So's the rest of her. We're taking our time, is all."

Stiles raised an eyebrow.

"There's nothing wrong with that," said Scott, defensively.

"Course not. Doesn't seem your style though. You know, in as much as I understand the concept of style when it comes to these things. You've been dating way longer than me."

"Stiles, can I ask you a question?"

"Anything, Scott. You know that. Unless it's about that Metallica t-shirt you lent me in eighth grade, because dude, seriously, it was for your own protection."

"How long were you dating Malia before you did anything?"

Stiles cleared his throat and took a gulp of soda. "Did what, exactly?"

"Well… when did you first kiss her?"

"Um… well, I guess you could say our first… thing. Yeah. Definitely."

"With tongues?"

"Yeah, dude, lots of tongue. And, stuff."

"So, when did you get to second base?"

"Okay, Scott - first, we're playing the 'base' game, really? And second, about three minutes after the kissing. Give or take; I wasn't checking the stopwatch. And because I can see exactly where you're going with this, we hit third base about ten minutes after that. "

Scott's eyes went wide.

"She was cold," said Stiles. "And it felt like the world was ending."

"Stiles…"

"It was perfect. It was on a stupid old couch in a lunatic asylum and I was hanging onto my sanity by a thread, and it was the most perfect, beautiful moment in my entire life. _She_ was perfect."

"I know," said Scott. "I know what you mean. I know how perfect feels."

Stiles swallowed. "Allison."

"Yes. I think that's why things are slow with Kira. It won't be like it was. It can't be, ever. And that's not fair to Kira, right? She deserves better. She deserves perfect."

Stiles frowned. "Let me get this straight. You're saying you don't want to have sex with Kira because it was so good with Allison?"

"I suppose… kind of, yeah. You could put it like that."

"You do realise that by that logic you'll never be having sex again, right?"

Scott looked positively alarmed.

"Scott, you're not even technically old enough to have sex in the first place. Isn't it a tiny bit early to be giving up on it all together?"

"Yes! Yes, of course." Scott shook his head. "Maybe it's…. Maybe it's just too soon, you know?"

"Now that makes sense, my friend. In which case, so what? Kira will wait for you."

"You think?"

"Of course she will. She's a nice girl and she's crazy about you."

Stiles shoved the last of his pizza into his mouth and hopped off his stool to go and rinse the grease off his fingers under the tap. "Seriously, Scott. Take your time, okay?" 

Scott put the empty pizza boxes in the recycling and joined Stiles at the sink. "So, you and Malia, on the first date, eh?"

"It's the way I took her to a filthy basement and introduced her to many pictures of trepanation. I know how to show a girl a good time."

"Trepa… what?"

"Trepanation. Drilling holes in peoples' heads to let the evil out. You want ice cream?"

Scott just looked at him, head on one side, eyes squinting like he was thinking too hard.

"I think there's only pistachio left," Stiles continued. "Dad had a binge on the chocolate fudge…. Scott?"

"What happened, exactly, Stiles?"

"What happened to what, when? What d'you mean?"

"It was in Eichen House, right? You and Malia."

"Yeah. She saved me from the white room, we went down to the evil basement, where we found the dead soldier in the wall, only that was after we researched the not very distinguished history of Eichen House and I warmed her up."

"But before…."

"Before what? Oh, right. Before the meds ran out and I turned into an evil psychopath. Yep. Before. That was a bit of a mood killer, to be honest. Now, ice cream?"

Scott sniffed. "You're afraid."

Stiles sighed heavily; he gripped the edge of the sink with both hands and watched his knuckles turn white. "The nogitsune didn't just come back, Scott. I chose to let it in."

"You chose?"

"It gave me a choice," Stiles said. "Let it back in, or Malia got a hole in the head."

"Yeah, I know."

"You know?"

Scott shrugged. "Malia told me."

All the air went out of Stiles' lungs all at once, and he struggled to get it back in; he turned around so he could lean back against the sink and stared at Scott's feet and tried to make sense of what Scott had just said. He knew. He knew?

"It's irrelevant," Scott said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The nogitsune was going to get back in eventually. Deaton was amazed you managed to hold it off for so long. Of course you saved Malia. I'd have done the same."

"If it had been Allison?"

"If it had been anyone! Look, Stiles, I don't care how many times I have to say this. It wasn't your fault."

Stiles shook his head, still gasping breath in and fighting tears. "You weren't there. You don't know what it was like."

Scott's arm slid around Stiles' naked, naked shoulders, pulling him into a hug. "So tell me, Stiles. Tell me."

Stiles screwed his eyes up tight and pressed his forehead into the smooth, firm muscle of Scott's shoulder. He tried to find the words, he really did, but there was nothing there, no way of saying it. 

"Tell me," said Scott, softly, rubbing Stiles' back. 

Stiles opened his mouth, closed it again. Opened it, and finally began to talk, not really knowing where he was going with it but knowing Scott could wait forever and he had to start somewhere. "I had a choice, Scott. I had a choice all along. I had the same choice everyone has, all the time, every day. I had the choice to live, or to die. When Deaton poisoned the nogitsune and I came back, I had the perfect opportunity. I could have ended it. So many ways: knife, gun, rope, drugs… but I didn't. I kept myself alive, knowing that it would come right back in again, and I would start hurting people again. The people I love."

"You think you should have _killed_ yourself? Are you serious?"

"Yep."

Scott pulled away, glaring at him, but kept a tight grip on his upper arms, so tight he was pretty sure he couldn't get away if he tried.

"Great," said Scott. "So you think I should have ended it when I got bitten? Do you? Are the hunters right after all? Was it right for Allison's mother to kill herself?"

"No! That's completely different!"

"Stiles." There was real pain in Scott's voice, and it made Stiles ache inside. "Stiles, do you have any idea what it would have done to me, if you'd killed yourself?"

"Relieved you of a big headache?" 

"No! God, Stiles, no! Never! What's _wrong_ with you?!"

Stiles shrugged, very aware that he was naked apart from the towel, and cold, and he didn't like where this had ended up. It was intense and confusing and painful and he couldn't see any way of getting out of it that didn't end up with them yelling at each other and one of them storming off. 

"Forget it," Stiles mumbled. "I'm tired. I don't even know what I'm saying."

"What about today?" said Scott.

"What about it?"

"Did you want him to pull the trigger?"

"What?"

"The assassin, outside the vault. Were you secretly hoping he'd shoot you so you could take the hero's way out?"

Stiles remembered fear, and an urge to run so strong he had to imagine his feet were nailed to the floor to keep still. He remembered the certainty that he was going to die, and the cold, desolate emptiness that certainty had given him. He remembered hoping so fucking hard that his dad would be okay, that Scott would be okay, and Malia and Lydia and Kira and Derek and _all of them_. He remembered being terrified and he remembered the moment the shot rang out and the split second that he thought the blood was his. 

He shoved Scott away as hard as he could. "Fuck you, Scott! You don't know what you're talking about!"

"So you didn't?"

"I said 'Fuck you'!" Stiles turned and ran: out of the kitchen, away from Scott, up the stairs to the refuge of his dark, empty room. He slammed the door behind him, blinked through tears, catching his breath at last. 

The moon was just a sliver, a tiny slice of light, but it was bright enough to cast a shadow across the carpet. Stiles sank down on his bed and stared out of the window, watching the stars and the moon and almost invisible clouds, and drowned in the pain of it all.

There was a knock on his bedroom door. 

Stiles sighed. "Goodnight, Scott."

Scott opened the door. "I need to know," he said. "If you ever think you might, I need to know."

Stiles glanced at him; he looked anxious, desperate even. 

"Stiles, I can't lose both of you," he said, voice raw and deep and heart-shattering. "You're my best friend. My brother. We've been to hell and back together and I don't want to lose you! And I'm afraid!"

He stood in the doorway, bracing himself with a hand either side of the frame, like he needed it to hold him up. There was a trace of the wolf in his eyes, but not the Alpha.

"What are you afraid of, Scott?"

"I'm afraid that everyone will die. That the assassins will work their way down that fucking list until everyone is gone. It never seemed so real, until Allison. And tonight you were right there, a few feet away from me but I couldn't get to you, and some bastard had a gun to your head and I could do _nothing_. I heard the shot and I thought…."

Flash-memory: the cold, hard eyes of the assassin, the splash of the blood.

"I know," said Stiles. 

Scott came into the room. "It's not your fault, Stiles. You fought with me every single day since I got the bite. You fought just as hard as me, and you're _human_! You would sacrifice yourself in an instant for your friends, and you know what really happened back there in Eichen House? Do you know why you didn't take your own life?"

"I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

Scott knelt in front of Stiles, where he could see the love and trust and goodness in Scott's eyes. It hurt. 

"You didn't kill yourself because you knew, somewhere deep in your heart, that we could win. You knew it! And Stiles, if there's hope, any tiny shred of hope at all, you never, ever give in. It's one of the things I love most about you."

It felt like Scott had slapped him round the face. 

And it was true. 

"Allison was the same," Scott said. "Brave, fierce and she never, ever gave up. And that's why she died."

His voice was weary. There was such deep, untouchable pain there. And although Stiles' tears were flowing freely and his legs were shaking, he pulled Scott in close, tucked Scott's head under his chin, and held him tight. "We'll get through this, Scotty. I know it hurts. But we'll be okay."

Scott's arms snaked around Stiles' waist, and he whispered. "Just… don't die, Stiles. Please don't die."

Stiles hugged him tight, and dropped a kiss into his hair. "I'll try not to, okay? And that goes for you, too. Not dying is one of your best leadership decisions so far. Keep up the good work."

He felt Scott smiling against his chest.

"Hey, Scott?"

Scott rocked back onto his heels. "Yeah?"

"When Kira said 'Stiles time', d'you think she might have meant 'give Stiles a blow-job'? Because while you're down there…."

That put the light right back in Scott's eyes; he grinned, nowhere nearly as scandalised as he should have been, and smacked Stiles' arm. "No, Stiles. I'm pretty certain she didn't mean that at all."

"Dammit." Stiles tousled Scott's hair. "Guess I'd better go put some pants on, then."

"Yeah, probably," said Scott, and maybe there was something just a little bit wistful in the way he looked at Stiles' towel.

Maybe.

*

_~fin~_


End file.
